


Mamihlapinatapai

by Janekfan



Series: Geraskier Fun Day [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Confessions, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Feral bard, First Kiss, Geraskier Fun Day, Heroism, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, M/M, Prompt Fill, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Sharing Body Heat, Use Your Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janekfan/pseuds/Janekfan
Summary: The wordless, yet meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but are both scared to start.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Fun Day [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681084
Comments: 14
Kudos: 306
Collections: Geraskier Fun Day





	Mamihlapinatapai

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Caught in a Snowstorm!

Muted in the solid wooden mug, the clack of coin clattering to the bottom sounded in shorter and shorter intervals, each individual meeting its brethren with an excited salutation. It had been a long time since Jaskier had played for a crowd this large, this inviting, this _generous_ and he took advantage the best he knew how, with lascivious looks that invited men and women alike to wonder where he might end up at the end of his songs, leaping table to table, a show like no other.

Geralt watched him from a dark corner and he wouldn't admit it, but the bard's whimsy and joy brought a smile to his rough face. He hid it, behind sips of ale, he hid his wistful longing and ignored the bawdy wink Jaskier made sure to toss him as if it were a gleaming coin. His lark deserved this much; to dance in a warm tavern and ply his craft to a willing audience. Geralt often wondered how much longer he could allow his selfishness to go on. How long would he keep his precious songbird trapped in a cage of his own making? The one made of beautiful songs that weaved the tales of a stranger into something more beautiful than a witcher ever could be. He deserved at least this much; to stay safe and kept and write in his books and hum the odd fragment of a new tune and oh, how he'd cast his eyes at him, caught and spellbound, in surprise and the skin beside his cornflower blue eyes would crinkle as he laughed and teased about Geralt having hated his songs for years. 

"Have I finally penned something worthy of your approval, my white wolf?" And he'd lean back, lovely hands Geralt longed to hold clasped behind his head, wry and grinning fit to burst. "How long has it taken, now?" He'd go on and on, "I could spin ballads, my handsome witcher, of the time spent waiting." 

_"As could I, little lark."_

Geralt was lifted out of his reverie by a hand clasped firmly over his shoulder and had he not known Jaskier's touch, would surely have pinned whoever so dared at the end of his blade. The bard just freed the pint from his grasp and downed the remaining contents in long swallows unknowing or uncaring of the spell the column of his ivory throat, damp with sweat, cast on him. An exaggerated gasp filled out the comfortable silence between them and Jaskier dropped heavily to the bench beside him, nudging him with a friendly shoulder while tossing his coin purse onto the table. The thunk it sounded was considerable. Jaskier had more than earned his keep.

"And how's that for a successful eve's work?" Jaskier plucked morsels from Geralt's plate, popping them into his mouth with considerable aplomb. "How much did you say this contract was for?" Cheeky. He knew. But with winter approaching and the ozone scent of a storm on the horizon, they'd need to hunker down and wait it out until it was safe to travel farther than the next town. They couldn't do that without funds. 

"I'll be quick."

"No doubt." Jaskier sopped up the excess drippings with a leftover roll and Geralt wanted to call for a plate of his own. Unfortunately, coin was too tight. But soon. And he'd get him something sweet too. The groan of delight was sinful and over the top. "Nothing like ale and bread after a glorious performance." He grew serious and looked Geralt straight on and unflinching. "You will be fast, right? And cautious?" He frowned. "There's a storm on it's way and the locals say it's going to be a big one. A bad one." Truly it was nothing, barely worth the payout.

"I will take caution, songbird." Geralt stood, hefted his kit and set out into the icy wind without looking back.

Jaskier tried to distract his worrying mind and hungry belly with some composing only to find every lyric turned toward a frozen end. The gale outside rattling the windows and seeping through the cracks made him shiver when he thought of Geralt alone and out in this mess. No matter how many times he moved his quill in the pattern of heroics it ended the same. And that was before the snow started to fall thick enough to fill in the panes. 

The emptiness in his stomach was bordering on painful and Jaskier wondered if he couldn't just charm some scraps from the maid in the kitchen. He began traipsing down the stairs, slowing to a sneaky halt when he heard the overheard the word "butcher" accompanied by raucous, ugly guffawing. Practically leaping down the rest of the flight Jaskier skidded to a halt at the bar where the innkeeper and his son stood laughing. 

"Listen here, you, you pair of buffoons! I'll have you know that the "butcher" you refer to in so cavalier a manner is out there in this storm saving your sorry skins!" When the chastisement failed to illicit the expected response Jaskier's face fell from angry and irate to confusion and worry. "What aren't you telling me?" Stinking of ale and bad whiskey, the older man shifted his bulk over the bar, leering in such a way that Jaskier actually felt slightly sick.

"I can see why 'e keeps you 'round." The bard blanched, lip curling in disgust. "Yer a pretty thing, butcher's got taste, I'll give him that, ey?" He elbowed his boy who seemed oblivious of the exchange. "Tell you what. You'c'n stay, long as you like. Even have a fancy room!" He belched and fear coiled like a snake in Jaskier's gut, the allusions quite clear. "Jus' for a price'm sure a lad like you would love to give."

"Were I not looking for the truth, I'd lop your head off myself. Where have you sent Geralt?" 

"Hopefully to his death!" The son blurted out, drunk and giggling, until he was cuffed soundly in the head, and Jaskier's fingers itched for the knife he had hidden on his person. 

"What have you done?" Terror trembled in his voice and he took an unsteady step back. "He's not after drowners at all, is he." The realization froze the blood in his veins but his legs were carrying him through the door and into the snow on the innkeeper's last laugh.

"I'm sure the fiend will give'im a right proper welcome!"

The snow blowing between the trees formed dark and mysterious shapes that fooled Geralt's eyes even as he shook his head to dispel the figments twisting and dancing in the corners of his vision. It was cold, the chill too much even for a Witcher to ignore, and he found himself drifting toward the promise of a warm bath and a soft bed. Perhaps that's the reason he was caught off guard by the creature. Or perhaps it was because he wasn't looking for fiends to begin with. 

Jaskier was frozen to the core, boots quickly soaked through from the snow pack and breeches damp to the knees from every slip and fall. His fingers were painfully numb even though he had both hands tucked under arms wrapped tightly around himself. This was a fool's errand and one he shouldn't have rushed into so lightly. But Geralt was out here. And he was facing a terror he wasn't expecting. As capable a witcher as he was, being ambushed by a mountain of solid angry muscle with a face full of teeth while in the middle of a snowstorm would tax any hunter. Jaskier didn't bother with shouting. He knew even with Geralt's superior hearing he couldn't be heard above the roar of the gale around him and forced himself to push ever onward, despite the heaviness in his limbs and the exhaustion weighing on his mind. More and more the bard found himself on his knees in the snow, unsure of how he came to be there. 

"Geralt." He shivered, forced himself up and on, icy breath burning in tight constricted lungs. Was he even going in the correct direction? He recalled the map but even with the bright white reflecting all around he felt unsteady and confused. "Geralt." Visible in the air, the name was swept into the night, crystals formed on his cheeks where tears born of more than cold and wind froze as they fell. "Geralt." He came to on the ground, face buried and frozen and praying he'd only been out for a few moments. A sob lodged itself in his throat, choking and hot. Geralt was going to die out there, and Jaskier would no doubt shortly follow. 

Up. 

Up. 

_Get up._

On legs made of lead, Jaskier staggered through the trees, steadying himself with frozen hands on frozen trunks, eyes squinting through the wood in hope of seeing anything at all. If he made it out of this, Jaskier would burn the inn to the ground himself and warm his body by the flames. He sagged, glanced in all directions. Began to give up the slim hope he'd been clinging to until he heard an inhuman shriek above the wind and turned toward the terrifying, earsplitting scream. 

It rose above him, towering, furious. All gnashing jaws and wild, stringy hair, its gigantic rack blending with the naked tree tops. The witcher was paralyzed, caught in the beast's third eye, and he barely registered the heat and foul stench on his face as it roared in its triumph, enthralled as he was to make an easy meal. 

Geralt was a smudge of black against a howling backdrop of increasingly foul weather and in Jaskier's disbelief at actually finding him alive, almost missed the fact that he wasn't moving. Was only staring blankly forward as the creature's maw made to close over his head. Before Jaskier knew what had entirely transpired, he was colliding painfully with the solid leather of Geralt's shoulder, made even more so by the frigid temperature. Skidding through the snow in his momentum, Jaskier made out Geralt climbing to his feet before succumbing to the blizzard's frozen will. 

"Mm… Jaskier?" Geralt staggered up far from where he remembered standing, swearing to himself he'd caught a flash of the bard's bright clothing. But the witcher couldn't dwell on what had just happened, just shook the hypnosis off as best he could before drawing his sword and turning toward the beast voicing its deafening displeasure, leaping sideways to avoid the charging mass of flesh and horn. Geralt wouldn't be caught again unawares and risked a glance beyond the heave of its bulk. Jaskier wasn't moving and Geralt didn't know whether the bard was alive or dead. He rolled out of the way a second time, casting igni in the enormous face to buy a few precious seconds to slash at its hindquarters, but they both knew it would take more than that. Geralt twisted in the snow, between enormous hooves trying to shatter his bones, and stabbed upwards into a soft belly, turning his head sharply to dodge the dark gush of blood and viscera. The heat of it created steam and Geralt twisted his blade in the fiend's belly to bisect it and send it down, down, down into the snow where he watched the light die from its eyes. The witcher panted puffs of vapor, wrinkling his nose at the acrid smell the cold did nothing to hide, and double checked the corpse before wiping his sword clean on the thick hide. 

"Jaskier." The man lay where he'd fallen, frozen and frostbitten, lips an alarming shade of blue. There was no reaction and when Geralt pressed his ear against his doublet he could barely make out the sluggish beat of his heart beneath. He needed warmth. To be dry. "Little lark, come back to me, bardling." Gently, he drew the still body close, cradling him in his lap and caught up his freezing fingers, so stiff and pale in his own hot hands. They needed shelter. Jaskier wouldn't make it back to the inn. Despite his own sluggishness from the cold, Geralt wrapped his cloak tightly around the human and nestled him in the lee of a wide trunk before scouting in a wide circle for a suitable tree. He found a pine, full and green and weighted with snow and ice and ducked beneath the boughs. Sighing in relief, Geralt made quick, creative use of his signs to clear the ground and shore up the walls, retrieving branches from nearby to lift them off the frozen earth. 

It was small and sound and safe. Geralt doubted much of anything would be prowling tonight, especially considering who once owned this territory and he retrieved Jaskier to settle him. 

He was pallid as death and Geralt swallowed hard, brushing gloved fingers through his hair. As far as he could see, he hadn't improved, pulse thready and weak. Clenching his jaw, the witcher stripped out of his leathers, the buckles creaking from the chill and leaving him in his worn linen clothes. He shuddered, imagining frost painting his skin like scars and removed his shirt, laying it over the branches to provide just one more barrier before turning to Jaskier to unwrap him carefully and strip away his finery down to his small clothes. Tugging him close and gasping at the cold in him, Geralt cursed, all the frozen corpses he'd ever seen flashed before his eyes and he swallowed hard. Bundled up together he cradled Jaskier's head as he laid them down, tucking his beautiful hands between them and breathing warmth into the bare space between. It was like holding a block of ice, and despite himself, Geralt shivered, nestling the bard's face against his neck and moving his broad hands along the frozen seam of his spine. 

"Come back to me, my lark, my sparrow." Murmured into soft brown hair, lips just brushing the top of his head, he crushed him closer, able to count every frigid digit of his fingers between them. They would hurt, Geralt knew, when they began to warm. He refused to believe there was the slightest chance that--

He tangled their legs together, willing the life into him until gradually the panic caught up to him and he fell unwilling into sleep lulled by Jaskier's breath beating against his skin. 

Violent trembling jolted Geralt awake and he grasped Jaskier's hands, faint with relief when he found them no longer like ice. The wind still howled and it was still dark based on the black he could see between the tight weave of branches and the space they'd taken refuge in was warmed slightly by their shared body heat to where the air wasn't painful on his face. Strong fingers kneaded gently into the quivering muscles strung tight with the effort of generating warmth. 

"Jaskier." Softly, so softly, he swept a palm over the back of his head, listening to a strengthening heartbeat. He rubbed his cheek against soft hair and closed his eyes against the want. The want for him to wake. To be okay. To be whole. So he could tell him.

It had been so close this time. So very close. 

"Songbird," delicately he pressed a secret kiss into his hair. Another. "Jaskier, please." And refused to examine why his throat was so tight and his eyes so wet. 

"G'ralt…?" He squirmed closer, uncoordinated and sluggish. "S'col'." Tremors wracked him uncontrollably and he whined low, not understanding, burrowing, nuzzling into the witcher's pulse point. He huffed, tired. 

"There you are." Thankful Jaskier wasn't aware enough to call him out on the dampness of his voice. "Gentle, bardling. I've got you."

"S'cold…" The barest whisper of Jaskier's most petulant tone threaded through the slur of his speech and a rumble built in Geralt's chest almost like a laugh. "Don'tease me." His hands flexed between them and he hissed sharp through his teeth and went still. 

"They're all right." Geralt soothed, once again pulling him closer, close enough that he could feel each trembling measure of him. "Sleep, now, my lark." 

Stillness roused Geralt next, the absence of a storm and the whole world blanketed under pristine, glistening silence. Jaskier slept deep and easy in his embrace, hands curled beneath his chin and slightly snoring with each breath. He was warm, mostly, the barest chill still lingered under his skin and likely would until a hot meal, a hot drink, and a hot bath. With a careful hand, Geralt checked for fever and found himself staring into half lidded cornflower blue. Jaskier shivered. 

"Where are we?" Cracked and rough, it was nothing like the music his voice usually held, still with an underlying note of exhaustion. "A. A tree?" When he craned his neck to look a swathe of cold air rushed in and he whimpered, huddling closer and abandoning his curiosity. "Why'm I, we. Wha'happened?" Weary and clumsy, his clever tongue tripped over the words, and he shuddered hard enough that his teeth clattered together. 

"You don't remember?" Geralt tugged the cloak tighter around them, held his hands and checked for damage and found none while Jaskier struggled visibly to remember. This was no way to speak about what happened, with nowhere to go, or to escape, should the conversation go quickly south. Nowhere for Geralt to hide. 

"I remember the innkeeper. He--" 

"You came after me. In a blizzard." It was difficult to keep his tone even, neutral. Did the bard not understand how much he meant to him? Could he not see? "Why? Why would you do that?" Even at the dull roar, Jaskier didn't flinch or react to Geralt's arms tightening around him. "Why did you come after me?" He could smell the anger rise in the smaller body, his face twisted up in remembering. 

"They. They set you up, sent you to your death. I couldn't--" 

"You could have!" And Jaskier answered in kind. 

"I recall now, saving your life, you ignorant brute!" 

"My life is never worth your own!" Raw confusion flooded the bard's expression, his lashes fluttered as he tried to make sense of it. 

"Geralt--"

"Never. I'm." It was he now burying his face, scenting Jaskier's warm skin, losing himself in the heady rush of the pulse marking time in his ears. 

"Look at me." His chin was lifted with the touch of fingers along his jaw, a waterfall of blue pouring into liquid gold. 

"You are always worth it. To me. You. Geralt." Jaskier pressed their foreheads together, laughter like warm rain filling up their hiding place and Geralt was drowning in it. "You really are thick."

One heartbeat. 

Two. 

Hands not so much brushing against each other as colliding when Geralt reached desperately for more, more, more. Crushing himself close, closer, closest. Undone from a multitude of kindnesses he's never in his life deserved. 

The bard was everywhere and all around. In his pulse, his blood, his bones. His touch delicate and gentle and lovely and all he'd ever wanted in his long, long life. 

And he wanted it. Wanted so badly to be loved without paying for it in blood or coin or some loss of himself. 

Their first kiss was that soft promise pressed between them, a vow told not to his ear, but his mouth. A message of mutual devotion and protection and tenderness. 

"They're going to run yowling when they see you come back." Draped halfway over his chest Jaskier mumbled drowsily into Geralt's shoulder, half asleep already from the fingers absently tangled in his hair. "I, for one, plan on penning a little something for this very hunt." He yawned. "Something amusing. Oh! And, of course, I can't forget my own heroic deeds. So there'll be some of that for you to look forward to." Humming a few bars of a jaunty tune, the bard looked up with a bright grin, softness brimming there in his gaze and how thick indeed was he, to not have noticed before.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to visit me at my tiny Tumblr @janekfan!


End file.
